


Blue Christmas

by Ashley5627



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, H/C Advent 2016, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley5627/pseuds/Ashley5627
Summary: Christmas was a time for happy get-togethers with loved ones, going out caroling with the neighbors and drinking too much egg nog. For his first Christmas out of prison, Neal only had plans for drinking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2016 whitecollarhc Advent Calendar. This is set in the first season even though Diana is in it. I didn't even think of it until it was too late, so just roll with it, okay?

The tracking anklet had never felt so tight and restricting around Neal's ankle than when June told him about her holiday plans. His gracious landlady was going to a much warmer climate for Christmas, along with most of her family, somewhere Neal couldn't go for three and a half more years. It was going to be a wonderful holiday for them and Neal tried not to envy them too much.

Mozzie had fled the moment the festive lights and decorations showed up all over the city, trying to beat the holiday rush. Neal knew from past years that he'd come skulking back around after the new year when the hysteria died down.

Like the polite gentleman that he was, Neal asked everyone at the office what their plans were for Christmas with feigned interest and a fake smile on his face. Jones was going to his folks place for the holidays to sing carols and exchange gifts and Diana and her girlfriend were going to rent a cabin out of state for just the two of them, which Neal knew definitely had not been Diana's idea.

Neal even heard that Ruiz from Organized Crime had plans to see his family for the holidays as well as a cute intern named Emily that Neal had at one point doubted would ever shut up about her holiday plans.

What Peter and Elizabeth were going to do was probably the hardest to hear. The endlessly happy couple were going upstate to spend Christmas with Peter's family, which sounded like quite the get together. Neal had no idea what they usually did for Christmas since this was the first winter Neal had experienced while working at the White Collar Division, but Peter seemed especially excited about visiting his family.

"Christmases at my house were always the best, and it's never changed even after me and my brother were kicked out of the nest. My mom, dad, aunt, uncle and my brother and his wife and kids will all be there. I just love seeing them since I don't get to that often," Peter had enthused as something painful pulled at a place in Neal's heart that he had thought had been deeply buried long ago. He just hoped his smile looked sincere as he listened to what he always dreamed of what his Christmases would have been like as a kid.

It wasn't like he never got any presents or anything heartbreaking like that. Ellen tried her best to make Christmas special and one of Neal's fondest memories was of them baking cookies together, making a mess of the kitchen and themselves.

Ellen pretended that Santa was real and he brought the presents to their house on Christmas Eve, but Neal hadn't believed in Santa since he was four and, when Ellen asked what he wanted Santa to bring him, he asked for his mother to smile again and for his father to spend one more Christmas with them. Neal didn't know until years later why Ellen had looked so heartbroken by that request, which had been so seemingly simple at the time.

Ellen had also lied about some of his presents being from his mom. She would have had to leave the house to get them and she never did that for weeks leading up to Christmas. Neal would just play along with Ellen's white lies, knowing that it would be better for both of them. It worked, and they were both as happy as the situation allowed them to be.

Christmas hadn't been terrible when Neal had been a kid, but it wasn't the ones Peter - and everyone at the office - had experienced and that made Neal wonder what those memories would have been like to hold onto on those difficult days between the good ones, the ones _worth_ remembering.

After Neal ran away from home and the lies that had once defined him, but now just seemed to haunt him, he didn't celebrate Christmas since he had no one to celebrate with and usually barely had enough money to buy food, let alone presents for himself.

He eventually met Mozzie, then subsequently met Kate. Kate never liked the holidays and Neal never asked why, but he suspected that it had something to do with the reason why he didn't. Now she was missing, and he feared that he would never get the chance to discover and mend those memories, and make some good ones of their own next Christmas.

Mozzie would always go on long rants about the hysteria of Christmastime leading up to the supposedly joyous day, then leave the congested city while everyone was at their craziest.

Neal was usually alone during Christmastime and this one wasn't any different, even though there were now people in his life that enjoyed the holiday. But they had other people to spend time with, so why would they bother with an ex-con that they barely even knew and definitely didn't trust? Okay, Peter knew him pretty well, but there was very little trust, and it wasn't like they were friends, just an ex-con and the agent that caught him.

WCWCWCWC

It was now Christmas Eve and since the drive upstate took a couple of hours, Peter and Elizabeth had already left to Peter's parents' house. Peter had already sat Neal down and given him his long, stern lecture about behaving himself and not getting into trouble while he was gone. They had already gone through all of that when Peter went on vacation with Elizabeth after their first case, but Peter seemed to think it was necessary to remind Neal since Kate was still out there somewhere.

Neal smiled his innocent, why-would-I-even-do-such-things? smiles and gave his witty responses where necessary, but he mostly lost himself in his thoughts as Peter droned on and on about responsibility and other unimportant things like that, then finished with his usual threats of prison if Neal was to disobey Agent Carter while he was gone.

Agent Carter was the man in charge of overseeing the few remaining staff over the holiday. The agent was a hard working, no nonsense man that didn't seem to mind working during the holiday even though he had a family to go home to, which confused Neal to no end. If Neal had someone to spend Christmas with, then he would have conned himself out of work somehow so he could be with them.  
  
Neal wasn't particularly excited to eventually go home to an empty house, but it'd be better than staying here and quite possibly dying of boredom. He was at his desk working on what had to be the most mind-numbing mortgage fraud case ever and was starting to become seriously concerned about his imminent death if he continued to read the file in front of him for much longer.

Neal's hand was the only thing holding his head up and he was just about to doze off when Agent Carter called his name and gave him the infamous double-finger point from the top of the stairs, summoning him to his office, which was to the left of Hughes'.

Neal was immediately suspicious of Agent Carter's intentions, but didn't let it show as he obediently made his way to the agent's office. Whatever the reason, it _had_ to be better than dying via mortgage fraud, Neal supposed.

"Yes, sir?" Neal asked after he entered, being polite in hopes of getting off early. Neal didn't know Agent Carter all that well since he usually watched over a different team, but he still hoped that he was a good man that understood that Neal wouldn't be payed for his overtime since he wasn't payed at all.

"Since Agent Burke seems to be the only one that can keep you in line, you're being placed under house arrest while he's out of town," Agent Carter said without any particular emotion, not even looking up from the file in front of him.

Neal opened and shut his mouth a few times, not sure how to respond. "But it's Christmas!" he finally settled on, hoping that he didn't sound as petulant to the agent as he did to his own ears. But that was a good enough argument, right? The agent had to understand that even criminal consultants had the right to have relative freedom during the holidays.

Agent Carter finally looked up, his expression now slightly annoyed. "Do you even _have_ any plans?" Agent Carter asked, his voice nearly a condescending sneer.

It was true that Neal didn't have any plans - aside from drinking a bit more than what was appropriate, though it wasn't like there was anyone around to judge him - but it was still wrong to just _assume_ that he didn't have anyone to spend Christmas with.

"Well, uh, not really, but-" Neal started saying, but Agent Carter cut him off.

"Good, now you don't even have to cancel," Agent Carter said, making it sound like it was completely reasonable. Neal's opinion of Agent Carter drastically changed in that moment, though he doubted that the agent cared what he thought.

"Sir, I really don't think-" Neal started, but was cut off again.

"I'm setting your radius to that nice mansion you live in after you leave here tonight as well as on the 25th. If you leave, then you'll be spending your Christmas in jail," Agent Carter said, his voice now stern and angry.

Neal had spent four lonely Christmases in prison - he did _not_ need to spend another one in a cage.

"Do I make myself clear?" Agent Carter asked when Neal didn't speak up, his voice now sharper. He seemed to have run out of patience for this conversation.

Neal nodded, tilting his head down as he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Yes, sir," he said quietly, not willing to disobey and risk going back to prison for something so stupid. It wasn't like he really had somewhere to go, so what would the point even be to fight for more space to be alone?

Did Peter know about this? Of course he did - he was probably the one that had ordered it. Neal wasn't to be trusted even when Peter was around, so how could he even expect to be trusted while he was gone enjoying the company of loved ones? He was still considered a criminal until he was done serving the FBI, maybe even after that.

Neal did wonder why Peter was putting him under house arrest now when he hadn't when he had gone on vacation, but he figured that it was because of the ex-con's recent stunt of taking a four-story swan dive out of a judges chambers onto an awning that had the agent wanting to take back all of the slack he'd given to Neal's leash. Even though very impressive and necessary to clear his name, his escape had not earned any good faith towards anyone in the FBI; it just proved that he was capable of escaping if he really wanted to.

Christmas was a time to spend with your loved ones and in-laws you secretly hated. Things like that just weren't meant for Neal. He didn't have a family or in-laws, and if he couldn't get Kate back, he probably never would.

WCWCWCWC

Neal got home late, the morose thoughts and feelings he'd been fighting off following him all of the way there. Once he got inside his apartment, he stopped and stared at his wine rack for a minute, thinking about drowning his sorrows in expensive wine. He was very close to taking a bottle or two and drinking himself into oblivion, but he knew that he had plenty of time to do that tomorrow since the bureau was nice enough to actually give him the day off. There were a few gallons of spiked egg nog in the fridge that would help him get through the supposedly cheerful holiday.

After changing into his silk pajamas, Neal decided to try to read before bed. Unfortunately, his mind was elsewhere and all he managed to do was sulk about his lack of freedom and people to spend time with.

With a short sigh, Neal turned the lights out early and stared at the wall until sleep claimed him, which was a long time coming.

WCWCWCWC

Neal woke the next morning to a light, fluffy snow falling outside, a soft layer of the white, powdery stuff already covering everything it could reach. He could hear the faint sounds of the few birds that stayed for winter singing their morning songs as the holiday lights on the balcony still shone brightly in the weak morning light. It was all so ridiculously cheery that Neal had to groan and pull the blankets over his head to block it out. He was no Scrooge, but this was just too much.

If this Christmas was like every other, then why did he feel so empty inside? So painfully alone? Did he really think that this Christmas would be any different just because he wasn't in prison? Just because he had a few people that gave him presents? He really did get more presents than he had in many years, but he didn't feel like opening them. They just sat on his coffee table, mocking him.

The two gifts from Mozzie looked book-shaped, most likely ones meant to educate Neal on the many conspiracy theories the strange man wanted him to believe, possibly even holiday themed ones. While Mozzie didn't celebrate Christmas, he still did give Neal presents, which was appreciated and Neal was sure to always get Mozzie something as well.

Neal was pretty sure Diana got him a tie, and, thankfully, she had good taste, so he wasn't worried about it being ugly and still having to wear it in front of her. Neal knew that Jones definitely got him tickets to one of the museums within his radius, because the man was not _nearly_ as stealthy as he liked to think he was, especially since Neal had been watching and reading everyone as they talked so he could know what they got him, and what they got everyone else.

June had given him an expensive bottle of wine - he knew because she had him unwrap it before she left - that he planned on saving for something special, like his and Kate's first dinner together once they were reunited again. Peter's present was still a mystery, but the man was never that great at gifts for his wife, let alone his CI, so Neal wouldn't be surprised if it was socks, a gift card or something along those lines.

Eventually, Neal left his bed and went about his morning routine. He probably would have went to the gym and swam a few - 20 - laps to work off some of his stress and excess energy, but he wasn't allowed to. He settled on doing sit-ups and push-ups until he was exhausted and covered in sweat. But while his body was now tired, his mind was still active as ever. It kept spiraling closer and closer to a depression borne of loneliness and isolation. It was somewhere he did _not_ want to be.

One cold shower and wardrobe change later and it wasn't even anywhere close to an appropriate time to start on the egg nog. He needed to distract himself and not allow his thoughts to turn dark and pitying. There was still plenty to do within the confines of this house. One of them _had_ to be enough to occupy his mind.

Neal first tried to paint, but he didn't feel like copying one of the masters and definitely didn't want to make any attempts at a Caffrey original. Sketching was easier, but Neal's mind kept wandering and he ended up drawing happy moments with loved ones that everyone had described to him while a lone figure sat by himself in a corner of the page, looking pathetic and completely and totally alone. Each of those sketches were ripped to pieces and thrown away.

His attempt at reading ended just as well as it had the night before. Cooking just made him wish for someone, _anyone_ , to share the meal he made. He started to feel desperate for a proper distraction, but watching TV today would only provide him with the same images he buried in his trashcan.

If Peter and Elizabeth were at their quaint house right now, then Neal might have invited himself over and pestered them on one of the few days they had just to themselves just so he wasn't alone, pretend that he was only there to annoy Peter and give them gifts that he'd 'forgotten' about. But he couldn't do that, and he was thankful that the temptation wasn't there. He wouldn't want to ruin their Christmas because of his poor impulse control.

If there was a real case to work on at the office, one that Neal's expertise was wanted and even vital, then he would have tried to get in the middle of it, but it seemed that the _un_ leashed white collar criminals were all on vacation this holiday. Hell, he'd take van duty at this point, just for something to _do_ , but he was not needed or wanted anywhere. He was meant to just sit around his apartment like an obedient dog and wait for Peter to come back and give him something to do.

After five long hours of failing to find something to engage his mind with, Neal got the first gallon of spiked egg nog and sat down at his table, which was covered with the days failures - a barely eaten meal for two, paints and brushes, three books and a sketchbook and charcoal.

The egg nog was probably delicious - he'd gotten the recipe from June, who knew her way around a kitchen, though Neal did add a bit more alcohol than she had suggested - but Neal didn't really bother savoring the taste like he usually would wine or a fine meal. The alcohol in it was all that Neal was interested in at the moment.

Just sitting there and drinking definitely didn't keep his mind occupied, so after some unknown amount of time, Neal could have sworn the walls were starting to close in on him. It was the same feeling he had gotten when he was in prison. Caged like an animal with no way out. Every aspect of his day completely controlled and him without any power. Owned with no way to get an upper hand. No space to breathe or think or create and reinvent oneself.

Without realizing it, Neal's breath had become quicker and more panicked as he thought of what it had been like in prison. He worked to calm himself down, but it didn't help.

In desperate need of air, Neal rushed to the French doors that led to the balcony and threw them open. Freezing cold air hit him immediately, waking him from his panicked daze. He wasn't in prison, this isolation and confinement was only temporary. He'd see Peter and Diana and Jones tomorrow and they'd laugh and solve cases and it'd be almost like they were their own little family, until he had to go home to an empty house once again while they had someone to hold them at night, keeping the chill of the harsh outside world away with love and soft-spoken words. It would be fine then. All he had to do was get past one day of no communication with the outside world. He'd done that before, and he could do it again.

After shutting the doors and wiping away what was clearly a few snowflakes that had landed on his face and definitely _not_ tears, Neal sat back down and, with nothing else to do, started on his second gallon of egg nog. It was going to be a long night.

WCWCWCWC

"Jeez, Neal, drink a bit too much egg nog last night?" Peter asked the next morning, brows furrowed as if he didn't understand why Neal would have drunk himself to oblivion on such a wonderful day.

"Among other things," Neal muttered under his breath as he knotted his tie with slightly shaking hands, but Peter still heard him.

Peter scowled disapprovingly for a moment, then a smile appeared on his face. "Well, maybe we can swing by a store and grab you some pickle juice. The ol' Burke remedy works every time," Peter said, looking obscenely proud over an old wives tale.

The mention of drinking pickle juice straight nearly had Neal running to the bathroom to puke up the coffee he'd just drank in a fruitless attempt to wake himself up, but after a small gag, he controlled his rebellious stomach, just barely.

Peter looked slightly apologetic for bringing something so disgusting up, but then patted Neal on the shoulder and steered him towards the door. "Maybe later, once your stomach settles down," he said, and his endless cheer made Neal want to scream. To his credit, he didn't, just trudged down the staircase with Peter.

"That's assuming it _will_ settle down," Neal muttered grumpily, knowing from past experiences, the few he'd had over the years, that he would feel sick all day, and usually nothing helped.

If Neal wasn't so proud and didn't have to work to stay out of prison, the glaringly bright sun that reflected off of yesterday's still painfully bright snow would have had him running back inside and hiding in the darkest corner he could find until the hangover of epic proportions ran its terrible course. The sunglasses he shoved over his sensitive eyes helped, but the hammering in his skull didn't let up.

The stop-and-go traffic that was routine for New York mornings had Neal's warring stomach start to churn unpleasantly once again. Peter gave him that troubled, sucking on a lemon look as Neal not-so-subtly held onto his abdomen and the agent made an effort to brake smoother. It helped, but by the time they pulled into the underground garage, Neal was tempted to kiss the wonderful, unmoving ground beneath his feet.

By the time they made it to the twenty-first floor, Neal had made his best attempt at constructing his perfect, carefree facade, but there was only so much he could do in the face of so much cheerfulness around him and the headache that refused to back down, even after he gratefully accepted the ibuprofen Peter had slipped him with surprising subtleness.

Peter had already been telling grand tales of his rambunctious family and the epic snowball fight that had lasted for hours, but now Neal was forced to face everyone at the office. Neal steered clear of the intern and her unbearable glee, but there was only so much to be done with those that he _couldn't_ avoid. Diana looked more than satisfied with her romantic holiday, and Jones was going around showing everybody pictures on his phone of his ridiculously large family that could barely fit in one shot. Diana even showed some people a picture of her and her unsurprisingly attractive girlfriend in front of the cozy cabin they had rented.

Neal tried to act interested, he really did, but the pounding in his skull made thinking and keeping up his happy facade nearly impossible. He just couldn't take everyone cheerfully spouting their holiday stories anymore. "Can we put the phones away and just focus on the case? We _do_ have work to do, you know," Neal snapped, and everybody in the conference room became quiet, which was nice while it lasted.

"Wow, _someone's_ a Scrooge," Diana muttered, scowling at Neal. If she wasn't so happy from her romantic escape, then Neal was pretty sure she'd be threatening to hurt him, or just skip that and hurt him without warning for being so rude to her.

Neal was a second away from snapping at Diana again, telling her that she'd have a reason to be grumpy if she hadn't just spent Christmas alone with her lover, but he wrangled his emotions in and just gave her the brightest Neal Caffrey smile he could muster.

"Ba humbug," Neal said instead, playing along good-naturedly. It earned a smirk from Diana and a chuckle from Jones and everyone seemed to forget his uncharacteristic outburst, just like Neal wanted them to. If Peter had been in the room at the time, Neal knew he wouldn't have gotten away without some seriously suspicious looks and questions once they were alone. Thank goodness for Hughes wanting to speak to Peter to catch him up on what he'd missed.

Later that day, Neal found himself in Peter's office as the two of them went over the cases that had piled up over the holiday. It didn't take long for the conversation to turn to plans for the new year, and Neal had to bite back a sigh of annoyance.

"Since we went to my parents for Christmas, we're going to see El's parents for New Years," Peter said, his voice strangely tense. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, just placed them on his desk, then picked them up and wrung them absentmindedly. Neal didn't need to be the expert at reading body language and facial expressions that he was to know that Peter was nervous.

"You don't look too happy about that," Neal observed.

"I'm not unhappy, it's just that El's father is a psychiatrist and a bit..." Peter trailed off, not sure what word to use.

"Terrifying?" Neal supplied.

"Exactly!" Peter exclaimed, hands splayed as if to show Neal his helplessness in this clearly dire situation.

"Wow, a psychiatrist. I bet that's interesting," Neal said, enjoying the normalcy of their conversation. It felt right, even though there was no true friendship to be had with a conman and FBI agent.

Peter shook his head grimly, looking like a man going to his death. "You have _no_ idea."

Neal had to laugh at Peter's misery, just for a second. Neal knew that besides having a scary in-law, Peter would enjoy his time off with Elizabeth and possibly the normal members of her family as well. His New Years would be great, but it was Neal's that was still unknown.

WCWCWCWC

Once Neal heard that Peter would be gone for New Years as well, he started scheming. If Neal wanted to spend New Years outside of his apartment, then he would just have to show them how valuable and trustworthy he could be.

Neal proceeded to work as hard as he could, proving his worth in the only way he knew how. He skipped lunch, stayed late and closed more mortgage fraud cases than he could count. Peter gave him suspicious looks, probably trying to figure out his angle. Neal just didn't want to be trapped and alone again for another holiday. He figured that if he told Peter that, the agent was bound to start in on the lecturing again and never let him have his relative freedom whenever he left the city. No, earning Peter's respect, and maybe a little bit of his trust, was the only way he'd get his minor freedom.

During a meeting to update everyone on a new case, Neal came up with a real, workable plan. After garnering the attention of everyone in the room, Neal offered to go undercover since it was his best chance at impressing Peter and the other agents. It didn't take much persuading and stories of alleged cons for Neal to get the green light. It really was one of his easiest cons.

In no time at all, Neal was sent undercover to try to get more information on a couple of thieves that had been stealing paintings and other art from private collections around the city. No one had been able to get much info on them so far, so Neal knew this was the perfect opportunity to show them just how valuable he really was to the bureau.

Neal had thought that his plan was going really well until one of the men recognized Neal, who was supposed to be Nick Halden, and all hell broke loose. To make a long story that involved a lot of bullet dodging and near misses short, Neal ended up being tackled out of a second story window, with the idiot that tackled him landing right on top of him and effectively snapping something inside of him that was surely vital with a sickening crack that reverberated in Neal's ears for many minutes after.

All Neal could remember after the fall was pain, _lots_ of pain, seeing Peter's scowling face somewhere in the distance and hearing pathetic, pained sounds that he eventually realized were coming from him. He tried to shut himself up, but then there were hands touching and fingers poking at everything that hurt and he couldn't help but moan and try what turned out to be his worst and most pathetic escape attempt he'd ever conceived.

He only made it about a half a foot before his pained body gave out, along with his will to move _ever_ again. Unfortunately, he wasn't given the choice to remain still until the pain stopped, or perhaps the end of time, whichever came first. Instead of being left to rest, he was forced onto something stiff and lifted into the air, making his head and the sky spin in unison until he was sure that at least one of them would fall apart.

Neal blinked and suddenly he was in some painfully bright emergency room and there were people asking him so many confusing questions in such loud voices that the pounding in his head racketed up to the point that he barely rolled over in time to throw up over the side of the gurney. That was when he realized that some of the near-blinding pain centralized in his right leg, and _damn_ did it hurt.

After that, he was carted away for x-rays and other complicated tests where he had to hold far too still and not writhe in pain or puke again. He did end up puking again, but he managed to hold off until the seemingly pointless tests were over. The nurse that had to hold the basin under his chin as he lost control of his stomach still gave him a dirty look, like it was somehow _his_ fault that he had been thrown out a window and cracked his head on the unforgiving ground below.

Neal was pretty sure that he passed out again when they started pulling pieces of glass out of his back, which was a relief - for the nurses and doctors' ears as well, Neal was sure - even if it was short-lived. When he woke up disoriented and in pain and the questions started up again, he almost wished that he was still unconscious, because with that came no pain.

After way more confusing and complicated tests and questions than Neal had any hope of keeping track of, his ending diagnosis was a concussion, a broken right leg that was covered with a heavy cast - a nurse picked light blue wrappings, to match his eyes, she'd said - two cracked ribs, and some cuts, mostly shallow with some deeper ones that had required stitches, on his back from the glass he had landed on.

He was told he was lucky that his leg took the brunt of the impact instead of his back since he would have had the possibility of becoming paralyzed, which was not something that Neal wanted to even imagine. After all was said and done, he was going to live, even if he felt like death was still knocking.

Neal saw Peter again when the agent visited him after he was transferred into his own room and finally left alone. "Hey, how you feeling?" Peter asked as he lingered by the door. He seemed to not know how this conversation was going to go down, like Neal could either start crying or laughing at any moment and wasn't prepared to handle either.

"Alright for a guy that jumped out a two-story window," Neal said lightly, knowing that it would ease Peter's worries.

Predictably, Peter's tense shoulders relaxed as he finally came up to the bed Neal was sitting on. "You were pushed, and landed quite gracelessly, I might add," he said, clearly happy to be able to fall back on their normal banter.

Neal groaned and closed his eyes in fake despair. "You're _never_ going to let me live that down, are you?"

Neal saw Peter smirking at him when he opened his eyes again. "Don't count on it."

"So, what happened after I took that header?" Neal asked, curious despite the fatigue that was weighing down on him now. After all of those tests and diagnosis's, he was finally given pain medication, and while it made everything much nicer and pain-free, it was clearly making his eyelids want to slam closed.

Peter sighed as he sat on a chair next to the bed, looking about as exhausted as Neal felt. "Everyone except your skydiving buddy got away, I'm afraid," he said, frustration easily heard in his voice.

"Damn," Neal muttered softly, though he wasn't surprised since he had seen most of them take off after the initial gunshots were fired. It had been a relief until he was tackled by that aspiring quarterback.

Neal wanted to ask more questions, perhaps just to keep Peter here a little longer, but Peter could clearly tell that he was struggling to stay awake. He patted Neal's knee, almost fondly, after the CI couldn't hold back a yawn.

"I'll let you rest. I need to get going on sorting out this mess of a case anyway," Peter said, then got up and left, but that worried Neal. Did Peter think that it was his fault that the case went pear-shaped? He was the one that was made, but it wasn't like it was _his_ fault someone from his past had recognized him. But would Peter see it that way? And, more importantly, would he allow Neal to leave his apartment while he was out of town for New Years? Neal wished he knew what he could do to make Peter trust him enough to let him have his relative freedom.

WCWCWCWC

Two painfully boring and just plain painful days later, Neal was able to go back to his apartment and would be going back to work the day after that. He was unsteady on the crutches the hospital had given him at first, but he quickly got the hang of it and was able to get up all of the flights of stairs to his apartment without help. Though by the time he _did_ get to his apartment, he was worried that he'd have to call for an ambulance to take him back to the hospital because it couldn't have possibly been normal for _that_ much pain to come from a little, two-story fall.

After collapsing gracelessly onto his couch, letting the crutches fall were they may, Neal somehow managed to get the pain back down to less dire levels. It was more than an hour before Neal moved from his slumped position on the couch. In that time he prepared himself for another lonely, and painful, night.

WCWCWCWC

Neal returned to work the next day, but didn't do much other than offer his opinion and insight on cases. He wouldn't be able to be out in the field until his cast came off, so it was desk duty until then. That also included paperwork, which was even more boring than mortgage fraud, but Neal was avoiding that with all of the skills that he had.

Although he was still welcomed back hardily, Neal feared that since the undercover assignment was botched, all the bureau would see was it was Neal's fault for getting caught and ignore the fact that he risked his life for them once again, and this time he didn't come out unscathed. But would Peter see it that way as well? Or would he just listen to his fellow agents and go along with their opinions?

It was likely that he would be spending another holiday under house arrest, and he didn't think he'd be able to get out of it this time either. His plan had well and truly backfired, and it hadn't even been his fault.

Just like last time, when Peter and Elizabeth took off the day before New Years, Agent Carter was given Neal's leash once again. Neal tried not to feel like some object that was being tossed around from person to person until it was no longer useful, but it really did feel like that some days. Neal knew that Peter respected him more than that, but he could never truly understand what it was like to be owned, and seemed to often forget just how restricting the situation that Neal was in was.

Neal wasn't surprised when, once again, Agent Carter told him that he was going to be under house arrest while Peter was out of town, because, you know, he could make a run for it on crutches, in New York City traffic on New Years with three inches of snow with more coming down while Peter wasn't watching him like a hawk. Neal really wondered about Peter's logic sometimes.

Neal didn't even bother putting up a fight since the idea of leaving his apartment had lost its appeal when he realized there was nowhere - beside the Burkes house, but he didn't dare explore that painful train-of-thought - that he even wanted to be when the year ended and a new one began.

"FBI agents are trained to distrust criminals like you. What else would you expect?" Agent Carter asked after Neal didn't respond to his expected house arrest, then laughed suddenly after he saw the hurt expression that Neal hadn't been able to hide in time. "Do you really think that Agent Burke or any of the other agents here are your friends? You're fooling yourself if you think so," he said, shaking his head while something like pity crossed his features for a moment. Neal did not want pity, especially from this man.

Neal clenched the handgrips on his crutches and took a deep, calming breath before responding, knowing that it was for the best for everyone that he didn't say what was _really_ on his mind. "I'll see you next year, sir," was all he allowed himself to say, then went back to his desk to stare off into space until it was time to leave.

During that time, Neal _might_ have had a few violent fantasies about ripping all of the Christmas lights and decorations off of the walls and desks that surrounded him, but it was clear that he had self-restraint since he didn't. It was either that or the pain that radiating through his whole body made it so he didn't move, or maybe the fact that he would probably be sent back to prison for vandalizing the office like a man that had escaped a mental institution and needed his own, custom-fitted straight jacket.

After work was finally over, Neal went straight to bed and didn't even bother trying to read to distract himself. There were hundreds of thousands of people in Times Square waiting for the ball drop, and even more watching on their TV's, but Neal couldn't be bothered by the change of calendar. It was just the slow passage of time, just lines on the wall. It didn't stop for anyone or anything, so why should Neal stop for it?

Although laying in between one thousand thread count sheets that were on top of a plush yet firm mattress that was held by a hand-carved, mid-19th century tiger oak frame, Neal still couldn't relax. His mind refused to slow down even though he was physically tired from the events of the last week.

After much tossing and turning, adjusting and readjusting the pillow under his leg and the ones under his head, Neal eventually fell into a restless sleep.

WCWCWCWC

The next morning, Neal figured that he probably should have felt at least a little different now that it was a new year, but he just felt trapped in a house that was feeling smaller and smaller each time he was forced to stay in it.

It was just another holiday, and just another house arrest. Neal supposed it was better than the bureau making him work on the holiday, and a hell of a lot better than rotting in jail, but he still felt justified to a little self-pity for a while.

Neal was usually optimistic about any situation he was in, always able to find a silver lining no matter how dark the cloud was, but he couldn't really see much to be grateful for now. He couldn't even exercise properly because of his broken leg, so he couldn't exhaust his body out like he had last time. It had helped, though not much.

Neal had drank all of the spiked egg nog the last time he was locked up in this spacious house, but he had a bottle of scotch in the back of his cabinet and it seemed like it could be a good memory and pain eraser. He had stopped taking the pain medication the hospital had given him since it dulled his usually razor-sharp thinking - not something that he could afford to happen at work with his probation still so tenuous - so it was safe enough to drink alcohol. The lack of drugs made so any tiny movement hurt, but hey, he didn't need to take full breaths anyway, and it wasn't like he had two miles to run around in.

After another long day of failed distractions, Neal grabbed the bottle and a glass and limped to the table, leaving his crutches against the counter. He poured himself three fingers - more or less - and threw his head back to take all of the liquid in one swig, the strong alcohol burning all of the way down.

His physical and emotional pain just might be able to go away with enough of it, so he poured some more and raised his drink for a toast. "To misery and its love of my company," he said to the empty apartment, then drank the scotch down. It burned a little less this time, and it would be worth it if it would at least numb some of the pain he felt. It was going to be another long, lonely night.

WCWCWCWC

"Are you hungover, _again_?" Peter asked a little incredulously, once again examining Neal like he was a puzzle to solve. Neal usually enjoyed that look, knowing that Peter would never really figure him out, at least not _completely_ , but he was just too exhausted to care or enjoy their usual games.

Neal squinted up at Peter from his spot at his table, the lights behind the agent far too bright. "It's quite possible," he said a bit reluctantly. As far as he knew, it wasn't against his probation to go to work hungover, but he still didn't really want Peter to know just how hammered he'd gotten the night before.

For some reason that amused Peter. "Did you celebrate the new year a bit _too_ much?" he asked humorously.

"You could say that," Neal edged, never one to give a straight answer even when he was feeling like crap.

Peter's humor of the situation didn't last long at all. "Seriously, Neal, you're not twenty-one anymore," he said as he placed his hands on his hips, actually lecturing Neal this early in the morning, and while he was hungover. He _really_ didn't need this right now.

"I won't let it effect my work, okay?" Neal snapped, maybe a bit too harshly, but wasn't that all Peter really cared about? His amazing closure rates?

Peter stared at him for several moments, probably trying to figure out how Neal was spinning this into a brilliant con. "Alright, fine. Lets go," he eventually said as he grabbed Neal's crutches for him, then held the door to Neal's apartment open so he could limp through.

The climb down the stairs was only a little better than the ascent had been since gravity had a helping hand. Peter waited patiently and didn't comment on the embarrassing wheezing sounds that Neal was making. Neal quickly learned that cracked ribs made for very painful breathing, but he pushed through, knowing that he could rest in Peter's nice, working-class car.

Right before they got to the front door, Neal stopped suddenly as a thought struck him. "Did you set my radius back?" Neal asked, not really wanting to get into trouble after obeying their rules like the good pet con that he acted like he was.

Peter stopped and turned around, a confused look on his face. "What are you talking about?" he asked, for some reason, either acting stupid or actually not remembering. It wasn't like Neal had been his highest priority the last couple of days, so it made sense that it wasn't in the forefront of his mind to set his radius back. Peter had remembered last time, but Neal still didn't want any trouble.

"My radius. You'll need to call the Marshals to get it set back if you don't want to get pulled over by some perpetually scowling men in suits in a few minutes," Neal said, trying his best to add a little humor to his voice. It wasn't easy - he _was_ hungover, after all.

"You stayed here _all_ yesterday?" Peter asked as he pointed at the floor, testing him.  
  
Neal rolled his eyes. "Yes, Peter. I stayed put even though I'd much rather have gone out," he said, actually a bit insulted that Peter had to ask. His tracking data told him everything anyway, so why was Peter even asking?

" _Why_?" Peter asked, acting completely bewildered.

Neal narrowed his eyes, not sure what Peter was playing at. "Because I was _told_ to. Believe it or not, but I can listen to commands. I just choose not to most of the time," he added to try to make light of a subject that made him want to run away from the constricting grasp of the FBI and never look back.

Peter slowly took his cellphone out of his pocket without looking away from Neal, which was quite creepy. He finally broke eye contact to call the Marshals and put Neal's radius back to two miles. It was space Neal wouldn't take for granted for quite some time.

WCWCWCWC

There was a vain in Peter's neck that was tense and bulging. The larger the vein got, the more concerned Neal was becoming. The agent's large hands were turning white as he held onto the steering wheel with a unrelenting grip, and Neal was becoming worried that Peter might break it if he wasn't careful.

"Did I do something wrong?" Neal eventually asked, not able to stand the tense silence anymore.

"It's what you _didn't_ do," Peter answered cryptically without taking his eyes off of the road for once, not telling Neal anything useful.

Neal wracked his brain, but came up with absolutely nothing that he had done wrong recently. Or _hadn't_ , as it were. Then why was Peter so angry? It wasn't like he had to spend Christmas in an empty house while everyone else that he knew was enjoying the holidays with their loved ones.

"Where are we going?" Neal asked after another minute of strained silence. _Am I going back to prison?_ It would be completely unfair after behaving so well. If he'd known that he was going back anyway, then he would have at least broken a _few_ more rules before then, maybe even tried to make a run for it.

"To work," Peter said tersely, and Neal relaxed slightly. Not prison. He could deal with anything else. Well, mostly.

By the time Peter pulled into the underground garage, Neal was pretty sure the agent was actually muttering under his breath. About what, Neal did not know, but it was very concerning. Did something happen that Neal didn't know about? Did the Marshals tell Peter something that made him so angry? Or had Peter's father-in-law brainwashed him into killing his mostly-innocent CI that sometimes complicated his life, and his wives through association? Wasn't that what Mozzie always said shrinks did? Neal had never gone to one, especially after the horror stories Mozzie had raved about, so he couldn't be sure.

The elevator ride was even more tense and awkward than the car ride had been because the barely contained fury radiating off of Peter had everyone keeping a safe distance while in the confined space, leaving Neal to stand next to the enraged agent, well within strangling range, if Peter really _had_ been brainwashed, or just cracked from all of the holiday insanity. Neal figured that at least _some_ of Mozzie's conspiracy theories had to be right.

Finally, and without the undeserved homicide of any mostly-innocent CI's, they made it to the twenty-first floor. Without even looking back, Peter signaled for Neal to stay at his desk with a raised hand, leaving Neal feeling like a bad puppy that had chewed up his owners favorite slipper and was being forced to wait for his punishment. But unlike the naughty puppy, Neal didn't even know what he had done. That made Neal not have any idea what the punishment might be, or how severe. Prison didn't seem to be on the table, but that could change at any time.

Neal watched as Peter marched up to Agent Carter's office and barged in without knocking. He slammed the glass door, causing the transparent walls to rattle and for all eyes in the bullpen to shoot up to stare at the two men in the office above them. There was shouting and grand hand gestures from Peter, then some from Agent Carter, but Neal couldn't make out what exactly was being discussed.

As much as Neal hated it, he'd just have to wait until Peter came back to yell at him for whatever he had done this time. Neal just hoped that Peter would take him to his office instead of doing it in front of everybody.

Neal tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as he powered his computer up and pretended to check his email while really watching the argument above, but everyone seemed to know that Neal was involved somehow. Peter was only ever this angry if Neal was part of the problem, and they all knew it.

It was when the yelling stopped that Neal got truly nervous. Peter had said that he wasn't going to prison, but what if Agent Carter said something to change Peter's mind? There wasn't anything that Carter knew that could get Neal in trouble, but to get oneself off the chopping block, people were willing to say anything, and Neal would be the perfect patsy. Seriously, who would believe a criminal over an esteemed FBI agent? The man even had one of those stupid ten-year FBI fraternity rings, something that Neal would never get.

Neal watched Peter out of the corner of his eye as the agent stormed out of Agent Carter's office and stood next to the railing. "Neal," he called, then gave Neal the infamous double-finger point when Neal looked up. The older man looked pissed, and that had Neal feeling even more nervous, though he didn't let it show.

Peter retreated to his office, expecting Neal to follow obediently. With a steadying breath, Neal grabbed his crutches and made his way to Peter's office with as much grace as he could manage with a broken leg, pretending not to notice that all eyes were on him the whole way.

"What's up?" Neal asked as he carefully settled himself into a chair across from Peter, trying to sound nonchalant. Peter was still giving Neal a deep scowl, one that said that he was not _at all_ pleased with the mess he had returned to.

When Peter finally met Neal's worried blue eyes, his own brown ones softened. He actually looked apologetic, like _he_ had done something wrong. Neal had to wonder again what he had missed. When Peter opened his mouth, Neal was truly surprised with what came out.

"Neal, I'm sorry that you were placed on house arrest while I was gone. I want you to know that I had _nothing_ to do with it. Agent Carter didn't want to be blamed if you did something rash while I wasn't around to stop you, so he thought that it would be in his best interest if you were forced to stay put while he was in charge of you," Peter said as he slowly paced in front of the large window behind his desk, clearly angry with the other agent's decision.

That was certainly unexpected. Neal had actually thought that _Peter_ was the one who ordered his house arrest, but he hadn't even known about it. "It's okay, Peter, I didn't even have anywhere to go..." Neal reluctantly admitted to calm Peter, but the agent didn't seem to like that one bit.

Peter clenched his fist as he gazed out the window, then turned back to Neal. "I didn't think about what might happen while I was gone, and I'm sorry for that. Agent Carter shouldn't have done that to you, but I didn't even know what you would have done if not for him. Honestly, I figured you had some grand party planned that involved a guest list you'd rather not talk about with me. I was actually trying to give you space and not to pry for once. Not that I'm blaming you, but you didn't actually tell me what you were planning on doing, just dodged the question like you always do," he said, sounding frustrated.

Neal could not deny Peter's words since that was exactly what he had done. Seriously, what would it have done to his reputation if everyone heard that Neal Caffrey, life of any party, or _room_ for that matter, had absolutely nothing to do for Christmas or New Years? He'd become the laughing stock of the whole office, and Neal knew that there were quite a few agents that still disliked him and would make things even worse. It was ammunition that Neal was _not_ willing to deal out.

"I lectured you about not running or doing something stupid when I should have been making sure _Carter_ wasn't the one to mess things up. I just assumed that he would do the right thing and you wouldn't," Peter said, apparently angry at himself for not trusting a criminal over an FBI agent. It stung, just like it always did when Peter didn't trust his word without assuring that he'd keep it, but Peter actually felt remorse this time for trusting an agent over him.

"It's okay, Peter. I know my place here. I'm a criminal, not an agent," Neal said as humbly as he could manage, but that seemed to anger Peter even more.

"You _didn't_ deserve this," he said fiercely, surprising Neal.

"I think we both know I've done more than enough to warrant a few days of house arrest," Neal said flippantly, trying to make Peter feel better.

Peter's head shot up, eyes wide. "A _few_ days?" he asked, his voice confused.

"Well, yeah. Some of Christmas Eve, Christmas, part of New Year's Eve and then New Years. I should be thankful that I got two of those days off," Neal added, making sure Peter knew that that was appreciated. Neal tilted his head to the side, confused as well now. "Wait, you didn't know about that either?"

"No, I didn't know that you were treated like a _dog_ taken to the _kennel_ every time I was out of town," Peter said sharply, but his anger was not directed at Neal.

Neal really never appreciated the dog jokes, but it was clear that Peter was just trying to make a point. "Hey, they really _could_ have put me in jail. If you think about it, I got off easy," he said, trying to sound nonchalant instead of fearful of what holidays he could very well be locked up during. What other ones did the FBI acknowledge?

"Dammit, Neal, I didn't even put _Satchmo_ in a kennel while we were out of town. He came with us, both times," Peter said, raising his hand, only to let it fall limply at his side.

Neal never thought he'd envy a dog so much, but here he was, wishing that he could have sat in the back of the Burkes car all of the way to each side of their family while he stuck his head out the window, panting happily.

Neal forced himself away from the strange mental image and back to Peter's frustrated face. "It's fine, Peter," Neal reiterated.

"No, it's _not_...but what's done is done. Agent Carter didn't do anything illegal, so there's nothing I can do," Peter told Neal a bit reluctantly. Neal didn't expect to be able to retaliate against Agent Carter - especially since he had thought his orders had come _from_ Peter, and it wasn't like he was going to try to get his handler in trouble - but it was appreciated that Peter had considered it.

"There's no need to lose your job for something ridiculous like this," Neal agreed, but Peter seemed to still disagree with him.

"It wouldn't be ridiculous, I just can't _do_ anything," he said, sounding more frustrated than he needed to be. "After letting you out of prison, only to lock you back up in your own apartment while I was gone is no way to treat someone that has helped us close so many difficult cases already. A person's home is were they are supposed to feel safe, not isolated or imprisoned," he continued, and Neal was surprised by how much Peter understood how he had felt during those long days, but the agent still looked like he'd rather be on a war path and Neal couldn't allow that.

"I know you want to do something, Peter, and I appreciate that, I really do, but I wouldn't want you to fight this if you could," Neal said, just wanting Peter to let it go so he could forget about these last couple of weeks. Hopefully Peter's understanding would help with similar situations in the future, so that Neal wouldn't have to be locked up next time the agent left. Peter seemed upset enough about it to get a different agent to watch him for the next time, so it was possible that Neal would get more freedom then.

Peter stared a Neal for a minute, then nodded, seeming to be satisfied with Neal's answer. After that, Peter called Elizabeth, probably to have her help calm him down, and when Peter returned, they picked back up on the few cases they had been working on before the new year like nothing at all happened.

WCWCWCWC

When Peter called Neal to his office the next day, Neal figured it was about work, but Peter just pointed at Neal and simply said, "You are coming to my place tonight. Seven 'O clock, not a minute later."

There really wasn't anything else Neal could say but, "Okay. Should I bring some wine?" It wasn't the first time Peter had invited Neal to his house, but it was usually to continue to work on a case while being able to be home and see Elizabeth. Also, it was usually a spur of the moment kind of thing, not planned like this. There wasn't even any tough cases to work overtime on.

Peter had to know by now that he couldn't con a con, so what was his play? Was he luring Neal to his house for another stern lecture? Neal had obeyed all of the bureau's silly little rules recently, so what did Peter think he needed to talk to him about? It wasn't like Neal was going to say no to Peter's invitation since he wanted to get to the bottom of this strange behavior, so he went.

With a feeling of slight apprehension that was a bit foreign, Neal arrived at the Burkes house two minutes before seven since he knew that the clock in their living room was two minutes early, though the Burkes didn't seem to notice.

Elizabeth greeted Neal warmly as she took the bag with a bottle of wine - he'd chosen the one June had given him on impulse - he had hanging from his crutches. She then ushered him into the living room, where Peter watching some ball game with great intensity. "Can you please unglue your eyes from that _riveting_ game long enough to greet our guest, dear?" Elizabeth asked in a excessively sweet voice, clearly mocking Peter.

Peter stared for a second longer, then snapped out of his daze and smiled at Neal after glancing at the clock. "Hey, right on time. Glad you could make it," he said as he got up.

"Well, you didn't give me much choice," Neal said lightly, but the comment darkened Peter's eyes slightly, so Neal changed topics quickly. "Elizabeth, what do you have planned for this evening? Peter didn't give me any details, so I'm in the dark at the moment."

"My sister gave me a few recipes to try out for next Christmas, but I wanted to test them out first, so if there are disasters, I'll be able to make adjustments and try again," Elizabeth explained as she peered through the kitchen door, presumably to check on a timer. "Oh, looks like everything is just about done now. Peter, why don't you set the table? And, Neal, all I want you to do is sit at the table and look pretty," Elizabeth finished with a wink, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Neal gauged Peter's expression to see what he thought of his wife calling him pretty, but the agent seemed more amused than anything, which was relieving. Not that Peter was the jealous type, but he certainly was the protective type, which seemed to actually apply to Neal as well. Neal wasn't sure how he should feel about that, but it felt good in its own strange way to know someone was watching over him. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, but it was nice.

Since all he would manage if he tried to help was broken dishes and free food for Satchmo, Neal listened to Elizabeth's command and settled himself down on one of the chairs surrounding the table, leaning his crutches against the wall. The chair catty-corner to his had a pillow on it for Neal's leg to rest, something that Neal found very considerate. He lifted his heavy leg onto the chair and sighed, happy to be off of it for a while.

 _'Maybe this really is just a simple dinner date,'_ Neal thought as he considered the lack of lecturing from Peter, who was also following orders by going into the kitchen and returning with fancy plates and silverware, then went about setting the table for three as if it was completely normal to. Neal would have made a joke about not only inviting a con to his house, but actually _giving_ him their expensive silver, but he didn't want to ruin the illusion of normalcy.

After Peter finished setting the table, he went back into the kitchen to help Elizabeth bring everything out. What the Burkes carried out was unexpected but delicious looking. There was a ham that was placed in the center of the table that was actually _wrapped_ in bacon, a green bean casserole with what looked like homemade onion crisps on top, a mix of steamed vegetables that Neal doubted Peter would barely touch, very creamy looking macaroni and cheese, fresh rolls, and mashed potatoes with chopped green onions and a couple of lumps that Neal guessed Elizabeth left un-mashed for Peter.

So it actually was dinner that Peter invited him to, and not just a front to lure him into his house. Maybe Peter wasn't as diabolical as Neal first thought.

"We don't usually eat like this, but the holidays are something _special_ at the Burke household," Elizabeth said to Neal as husband and wife sat down across from Neal. The couple winked at each other with secretive smiles, and that was when it finally clicked for Neal. They were doing this for _him_ , creating another holiday dinner for the ones that he never got to have. The sentiment warmed his heart more than he expected it to.

Neal couldn't think of a time when someone actually tried this hard to create something just for him. It was so unexpected, but extremely thoughtful and truly amazing.

In that moment, Neal allowed himself to pretend that they were a family of sorts. It wasn't perfect, and wouldn't last, but at least Neal had this moment to hold onto.

"I made the macaroni and cheese and the rolls," Peter announced proudly as he served an extra large helping of each for himself.

"It all looks amazing," Neal said as he followed Peter's lead and helped himself to some of the food.

"Me and Elizabeth made everything, so why don't you do a little work and cut the ham?" Peter suggested with a smile, holding out a large knife and fork for Neal to take. Neal could tell by the expression on both of the Burkes' faces - somewhere between respect and something akin to pride - that cutting the ham was not a job, but an honor.

Neal gratefully accepted the cutlery and Peter pushed the ham towards him so he could cut it without having to stand. Neal cut the ham into even slices and served everyone, making sure that each of them got some bacon as well. After that, they all dug in as they shared stories about their day, laughing and enjoying each other's company almost like a normal family would.

It took a while to eat all of the food that Peter and Elizabeth made, and even after they were all done, there was still quite a bit for leftovers. After putting everything away, Elizabeth brought out two pies - an interesting egg nog pie and a sweet pecan pie - and they all sat down in the living room to watch TV.

Neal opted for the chair since it had an ottoman for his leg to rest on, and the couple took the couch. The three of them picked out a few lighthearted Christmas movies, starting with The Santa Clause with Tim Allen - they hadn't bought any of the classics on DVD yet and the VCR wasn't hooked up to play those. The movie started up as they ate and, just like dinner, the pie was delicious and Neal was sure to eat every bite even though he was already full.

While Scott Calvin continued to be _completely_ clueless about how the role of Santa worked, Neal let his eyes wander around the room as he took in the surreal moment around him. The beautifully decorated Christmas tree that had yet to be taken down shone brightly in the background as Satchmo gnawed happily on his new rawhide bone from his spot on his bed that was next to the couch.

A fire crackled and popped in the fireplace as flames flickered and produced a warm glow, keeping everyone toasty while the chilled outside was being blanketed by a thick layer of snow. Peter and Elizabeth were actually snuggled up like two birds of a feather, but instead of feeling jealous, Neal was happy to witness their unwavering love. Neal didn't allow himself to think of Kate, not here, not tonight.

This was nothing like Neal expected this night to go, but it was perfect in its own way. Neal sighed and relaxed completely into the chair, content with allowing this moment to wash over him.

How The Grinch Stole Christmas was next, setting them up for more Christmas comedy with a happy ending, though Neal realized that there was a deeper underling message. First exiled and not seen as an equal because he was different, Neal could understand the Grinches pain, and he was also pretty sure he was starting to understand that there were those that were willing to see what was underneath those differences, as the Grinch eventually did as well. For a moment, Neal felt that maybe, _just maybe_ , this wouldn't have to be an illusion of a life not lived, but a memory in the making, unique and special in its own right.

After its credits started to roll and Where Are You Christmas by Faith Hill played, Neal glanced at the clock and was surprised to see how late it was. "Wow, I didn't know it got that late," he said, rubbing his eyes with his hand as fatigue caught up with him.

"Hey, why don't you just stay the night?" Elizabeth suggested, her head resting on Peter's shoulder as he embraced her.

"Oh, I don't want to impose," Neal said, feeling uneasy at the thought of inconveniencing them, but also a tiny bit hopeful that he wouldn't have to go back to his empty apartment just yet.

Elizabeth lifted her head from Peter's shoulder and glanced outside. "Oh, nonsense. Have you seen how hard the snow is coming down? By the time Peter drove you to your place and back in this weather, it would be way too late for any of us to get good sleep. No, the only practical answer is for you to stay here tonight," Elizabeth said, her tone firm.

Neal couldn't really argue with that logic, and really didn't want to take Peter away from Elizabeth for that long, so he nodded. "Well, if you put it that way, I guess I'll stay," he said, and Peter got him some of his pajamas while Elizabeth set the guest bedroom up. All Neal seemed to need to do was fall into bed and drift off, and he wasn't about to complain about that, or the amazing dinner that two wonderful people had made just for him. Those memories were something precious that he was going to hold onto.

WCWCWCWC

When Peter invited Neal to his place the next week, he figured it was from whatever lingering guilt he still felt, but when he did it the week after that, and the one after _that_ , Neal started to feel like this could be more than a few glimpses of what family was capable of being. It turned into a routine that made Neal far less lonely on the nights he wasn't at the Burkes house.

Neal actually found himself excited for those relaxed dinners at the Burkes, to watch the evening news on their comfortable chair as he listened to husband and wife bicker good-naturedly over trivial matters. And the craziest part about all of it was he hadn't even had to con or bribe his way into their house. It was an open invitation, one that Neal would never take for granted for as long as it lasted.

It was during the fourth dinner that Neal realized he wasn't _just_ the ex-con that got him a high closure rate to Peter, but a partner, a friend. His life, his _pain_ , it mattered to Peter, and to Elizabeth, who never had to open her door or arms to him when all he thought that he had to offer was trouble and danger for her and her husband, but still did so without an ounce of prejudice. He was accepted into their house, into their lives, like he didn't just belong, but fit perfectly, which, he was pretty sure, he eventually did.

For the second Christmas out of prison, after an explosion changed his world in many ways, and yet allowed it to stay the same, Neal had plans for dinner and opening presents at the Burkes house.

The husband, wife and ex-con over-decorated a large evergreen - a real one that they all three picked out - as they listened to Christmas music - both classic and cheesy - and opened presents - _so_ many more than Neal had ever had - ate a dinner like no other - one that Neal helped make, this time around - and even baked cookies until the kitchen could have easily been mistaken as a disaster zone and their stomachs were overly stuffed full of delicious baked goods.

It ended up being the best Christmas Neal'd had in more years than he could count, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had somewhere he belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
